


Poison (is my remedy)

by DarkShadeless



Series: Poison is my remedy [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Alien Biology, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Codependency, Communication Issues, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, Maybe more than usual, Nobody Is Good At Feelings Here, Possessiveness, Sith being Sith, Somnophilia, Xenophilia, deeply undernegotiated kink, implied infidelity, intersex omega, not quite as dark as it sounds but yeah, pregnancy scare (brief), probably unrealistic smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22459954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: Sar really wishes Somminick would stop doing this. (But does he?)
Relationships: Cytharat/Male Sith Warrior (mentioned), Somminick Timmns/Male Sith Warrior, Theron Shan/Male Sith Warrior (mentioned)
Series: Poison is my remedy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616107
Comments: 10
Kudos: 14





	Poison (is my remedy)

**Author's Note:**

> You will not believe how long it took to post this.  
> Okay! So… someone told me a while ago that in the ‘Overseer Sar’ series Somminick and Sar are such great friends you don’t even want to ship them. While I appreciate the thought (They are great friends!) naturally, that kick-started my brain into trying to figure out how to make them bang.  
> Not as easy as it may sound.  
> Uh. The first attempt lead to a semi-finished sex pollen fuck-or-die fic that I am not sure I will ever manage to post and that should tell you where we started on this project XD  
> The second attempt ended up as this. Please, for the love of everything, heed the tags. Their relationship is... complicated. Let's put it that way. The flavor of the day is 'though largely consensual neither safe nor sane'.  
>   
> I should possibly also warn for Sar's usual vocabulary :P For those who don’t know him: The concept of political correctness is not something he is familiar with and he will say fuck as much as he damn well pleases.  
>   
> Fair (additional) warning: We jump in at the deep end here. This is the porn equivalent of self-indulgent crack.

Sar wakes to two fingers in his cunt, arousal coiled in his stomach in a sweet ache. He can't help it, he clenches with a shudder, tightens around the digits that work him open with expert ease before he’s even fully conscious.

They're long, thick, could be enough to satisfy him all on their own and their owner knows just how to touch him. 

_‘Gods, not again.’_

As if he's reading his mind the bastard twists his wrist and his fingers curl, catching one of Sar's weakest spots with punishing efficiency.

He arches with a gasp. A rush of slick trickles from his pussy. Can't be the first, his thighs are sticky with it.

_‘Force, how long has he been at this? I'm sopping wet.’_

There's exactly one person in the whole galaxy who could and would do this to him and he knows their touch by heart. His entire damned body feels like it's _trained_ to react to it, pressing back into that hand without his say-so.

"S-somminick, what the fu-UCK!" 

His partner hums, faintly interested at best as he keeps stroking _that_ place. You wouldn't know he's holding Sar down with a firm hand between his shoulder blades, opening him up for his- 

_‘Oh kriff no.’_

His traitorous body shivers at the thought. What’s left of his _brain_ is less enthused.

Sar tries and fails to push himself up, weak-limbed with arousal. "No. Somminick, no. No, no, no- shit!"

The asshole behind him scissors his fingers and _drags_ them out. Gods, he’s almost hurting with how much he needs to be filled. He needs to be _fucked_ , he's so _ready_ , he _needs his alpha_ -

Holding on to his willpower with nothing but sheer stubbornness, Sar gasps for breath. " _No_. Somminick, don’t you _dare_."

That won’t stop him. It never does. He's leaning over Sar already, chest against his back firm and warm. The hand that isn't closing around his hip to guide him back, wet enough to leave smears on his skin, finds his own and threads their fingers together.

"Don't you like it?" The words are murmured right into his ear, dark with satisfaction and just a hint of excitement. Sar buries a moan in the pillows. 

" _No_. No I don’t." Lies. He can't banish the breathiness from his voice, no matter how he tries. " _Stop._ "

_‘Gods, I should just head-butt him and be done with thi-‘_

Somminick breaches him, pushes inside and Sar loses all his breath on a yell. 

That Force-damned alien cock. It's the furthest thing from smooth, more reminiscent of a sea anemone than anything Sar associates with genitals, covered in hundreds of little grasping feelers and entirely proportional to Somminick's stars-benighted size. 

Sar's shuddering through an orgasm before he's all the way in. The only thing that keeps him from collapsing is the arm that winds around his waist to keep his hips firmly in place, tilted up for easy access.

"There you go." He sounds so _gentle_. Sar wants to murder him more than a little. "Isn't that better?"

"I'm going to k-kill you," is all he manages to stutter before his partner shoves his dick into him the rest of the way with a merciless, steady glide that steals his ability to think in full sentences. The overstimulation almost makes him black out.

 _That_ has never stopped Somminick either.

Gods, he's going to end him. This time he really will.

How long does it take? An hour? Two? Sar has no idea. He loses all sense of time.

All there is is Somminick, inside him, touching him, keeping him close and he can't- he can't find the strength to pull away. He thinks he might have tried, pushed at him so weakly his partner chuckled at his antics. Somminick sears that sound into his soul, nipping at the junction of his shoulder and throat, the one thing that always makes a bolt of true panic lace through him and has him struggling in earnest. If he bites him, if he _bonds them_ -

"Don't- Not that, not-"

"Ssssh. I won’t. Not that."

Not that but everything else. The push and pull of their mating is only amplified by the way his cock seems loathe to leave the warmth of Sar's body. It's the weirdest sensation, sucking and grasping, the slide of involuntary release before he takes him again and it starts over.

Honestly, he wouldn't have to fuck Sar at all, he could just stay still and let the wriggling of his feelers do the work. Maybe having sex with him would be less overwhelming if he did.

By the time Sar comes for the third time, abdomen still clenching with the last dredges of his second climax and the first hints of the next, he's about ready to beg, his pride be damned. 

His own dick is twitching against Somminick's forearm helplessly. He can never keep up with what his partner does to his cunt on that front, wrung dry before he's through with him time and again.

" _Stop_. Take it out, I _can't_. Somminick, _please_ ," he almost chokes on the words and doesn't even care what he sounds like. Completely wrecked, likely as not. The pillow has long been drenched with sweat, spit and tears. Nevermind the sheets. Those are a total write-off.

"Not yet."

_‘Oh gods. He's gonna knot me isn’t he?’_

Somminick doesn't do that every time. It takes his partner quite a while to get worked up enough to tie them and he has to all but drown himself in Sar's pheromones to manage it.

But he's trying for it today, nose buried in his neck and sucking on his scent glands, encouraging his body to give him _more_ though Sar has to reek of sex, desire and what comes with that for any omega: the hormone-based encouragement for his alpha to do just what Somminick is planning. The only way he could get himself a fix more quickly would be to go down on him or eat him out.

Now that he's paying attention Sar can feel his cock growing firmer at the base. It's starting to expand, forcing his already stretched cunt wider with every thrust. The threat of being _stuck_ on Somminick's dick for however long it will take for the tie to wear off again makes his blood run cold.

( _Hot_. It makes him run so hot. Caught, with no way to get away, Somminick wringing every last bit of pleasure he’s capable of out of him without mercy. He _loves_ it.)

_Shit._

"You can't be kriffing serious," His protest is thready at best. Sar is panting, struggling for every breath. The sounds Somminick is fucking out of him are obscene. Dignity is a lost cause. "You know I- hn!"

His partner pushes him into the mattress with his full weight, grinding down against every sensitive area he has at once. Sar's mind whites out to mental static. All he knows is the feeling of his alpha above him, inside him, taking him in almost every way that matters. In that moment Somminick could do anything to him and he wouldn't care.

And he _does_. 

He starts to come with a moan so quiet it's almost a sigh, his knot expanding rapidly and locking them together. It's so big it almost exceeds what Sar can take. 

He whines helplessly, his instincts at war. 

His alpha should make this better, should soothe him, but his alpha is the _damned asshole_ doing this to him in the first place and he should _tear his dick off for it_ -

"Gonna, gonna kill you. I kriffing will. Oh _Force_ ," Sar shivers, his cunt clenching uncontrollably where it _can_ and isn't filled to capacity. Another peak rolls through him, almost indistinguishable from the stimulation Somminick is forcing on him. 

He's so _full_. With every involuntary shudder his alpha obliges his body's attempt to milk his cock and gives him more. The first rush of come tapers off into leisurely spurts but Sar knows better than to think that means Somminick is anywhere near done.

He'll feel completely bloated before they're through. With them tied so securely there's nowhere for his spend to _go_ but inside of him, to the last drop.

Military grade contraceptives or not, it's a wonder he hasn't caught yet with how Somminick likes to ride him.

Maybe he will this time. Maybe his alpha has finally gotten him knocked up and he'll be chained to home base and bed for nine months while he carries his litter. Stars and spirits. That better not be what happens or Sar will castrate him. They can't _afford_ for him to get pregnant. He’s going to get fucking assassinated.

His sudden anxiety doesn't go unnoticed.

With a calming purr Somminick cradles him close, hands kneading the straining muscles of his abdomen and his disjointed thoughts are thrown into disarray again. Sar fumbles for the source of that pressure weakly. "Stop. It's too _much_." To his complete embarrassment his voice breaks on a sob.

Mercifully his alpha turns them over onto their side carefully, tucking him under his chin, his chest rumbling with a sound that goes straight to Sar's hindbrain and helps him relax into him against his better judgement. 

"Hush. You can take it."

A laugh wants to claw its way up Sar's throat. He swallows it with some difficulty. " _Oh really?_ How about you shove something the size of your fist up your ass and-" 

Somminick, the bastard, rolls his hips. It doesn't do much, locked as they are, but it does _enough_. His feelers are still moving with a life of their own, teasing Sar in ways nothing should. Pleasure splinters through him on the knife's edge of pain. He's helpless to do anything but shake, his partner's embrace and his voice the only solid thing in the galaxy.

" _Relax_. Let me make you feel good."

As if he has a choice. Looks like they're going to be here for a while.

An _eternity_ later Somminick's little pervert tentacles finally start to wear themselves out. They grow less animated, the wriggling tunes down until Sar can barely feel it and that's how he knows they're going to unlock soon.

Thank the Force.

He's so bloody overtaxed he can't stop shivering. That Somminick keeps rubbing his stomach isn't so much helping as it's part of the problem at this point. He swears he can see a visible bulge where his partner has filled him beyond all reasonable expectation.

"Gonna kill you." He sounds almost too exhausted for that to be called a threat.

Somminick chuckles into his hair, sending a shudder down Sar's spine. "You say that every time."

Sar doesn't bother to dignify that with an answer. He just hasn’t gotten around to it yet. He's _busy_ , Force damn it. Murdering his repeat offender of a partner hasn't been a priority.

But maybe he should _make it_ a priority if this is going to _keep happening_. Kriff _._

Slowly, so slowly, the knot keeping them tied starts to deflate. He's drenched pretty much immediately, before Somminick has the chance to pull out.

 _That_ only exacerbates the issue. Soon as he does a veritable flood of slick and come drips out of Sar's ruined cunt. He can't be bothered to do more than roll over and make a face at the feeling. "Void. Look at this _mess_."

His alpha, singlehandedly responsible for every time he is in this kind of bind and ever unrepentant, is a still shadow in the faint red light of Sar's temporary quarters. The only feature he can really make out are his flame-bright eyes. Somminick is watching him like a predator, at odds with his light, even tone.

"I could clean you up."

Yeah. Right. Sar throws and arm over his face because he can't be arsed to figure out making an expression, much less sort out what kind. "Kriff you. The last time I let you do that you fingered me until I was screaming."

Somminick's presence flares subtly. That doesn't make it into his tone either. As always he sounds perfectly at ease, calm and confident, a mask as placid as the one on his face. "You liked it."

_‘Yes I did.’_

"Fuck off you spawn of a shutta. I'm not even _talking_ to you right now."

* * *

Somminick leaves his partner to lick his wounded pride, after he has enjoyed the state he has put him in a little longer. Sar's threats aren't always empty. The trick lies in knowing when he's getting serious.

By the time breakfast rolls around he has all but forgotten Somminick isn't supposed to exist as far as he is concerned and he hasn't bothered to get off his behind to strangle him either.

He's still grumpy, though. Little wonder. He can barely sit still. It seems last night has left its mark. 

Somminick has to hide the evidence of a faint smile in his cup of kaf. Going by Sar's baleful glare he needn't have bothered. 

"You thrice cursed Sith spawn. Do you have any idea what I had to do to get five minutes of peace in a shower on my lonesome? Couldn't you have waited with that kind of bantha shit until we're off this rock?" His partner's general vocal level is pitched to a hiss in deference to their audience. Communal messhall-tents do not for privacy make.

"No."

"What the hells is that supposed to mean?!"

Sar's displeasure snaps through the room like a whip. Every single lower ranking alpha and omega in the vicinity flinches under it, which is all of them. So do most of the betas, despite the fact that their senses are more muted.

A dark sort of satisfaction wells up in Somminick's breast. Let them cower. Let them _fear_. Most of all, let them know they shouldn't so much as glance at what is his.

It takes more than a hurried trip to the refresher to wash away that kind of claim and it soothes his spirit to smell himself wound up in Sar's own scent so clearly.

It will fade. The loss is inevitable, small as it is, and every time it happens it nearly drives him insane.

If Sar would just let him mate them, would agree to be _his_ in a tangible, all but irrevocable way, maybe he could calm the terrible need that hounds him. He could take what he wants but that indulgence might be the one thing his partner wouldn't forgive. A breach of trust like that may not heal. He knows which lines not to toe.

"I am _waiting,_ Somminick."

Like this one. Sar's eyes are burning with inner light, his jaw is set. He's so close to truly angry Somminick finds himself mimicking the rabble that shrinks from his partner when he's in a mood. His shoulders curve.

He looks away, glances at his kaf to avoid the brunt of that accusing stare.

" _Well?_ "

There is only one way forward that won’t end in a spat. If he lies, Sar will know. That doesn't make Somminick give in without grinding his teeth.

"... you were looking again."

Incredulous silence answers that declaration.

As if there isn't only a handful of reasons Somminick does what he did last night. Not every odd occurrence puts him so out of sorts he needs to remind both of them Sar still belongs to him and him alone. That he can be what he needs, in all ways.

"Are you serious? At _what_?" The growl under Sar’s words is faint but unmistakeable.

The real question is 'at who' but they both know that. Somminick is too irked by the reminder to take the opening and ease them into a softer kind of verbal spar, give both their tempers a chance to cool. "Shan."

Theron Shan, with his daredevil smile, joking in the face of danger. Bantering with _Sith_ , with Sar, who is so far above him he's not worthy to lick his boots and it had made his partner _smile_. How _dare_ he.

Somminick wishes he could wring Shan's neck without causing an intergalactic diplomatic incident. If the man's mother wasn't on the same planet they are and the Grandmaster of the Jedi to boot, maybe he would and kriff the consequences. (He wouldn’t. The torment his partner would visit upon him defies description and may, actually, be responsible for the better part of his hesitation. Somminick hasn’t had respect to waste on Jedi since he was a padawan himself.)

Across from him Sar lets his cup of much bemoaned second-rate tea sink with an expression that spells Trouble with a capital T. "Really? _Really_? That was it?"

Somminick can all but feel his displeasure spark to rage but he can't keep his mouth from twisting any more than he can stop the rain of Dromund Kaas with his bare hands. 

"I looked at Theron kriffing Shan, that's why you went caveman on me?" 

Somminick's veneer of calm remains intact by the grace of suffering years upon years under Darth Baras as his lord and master and that alone. It doesn't reach more than skin deep these days, a mask and a shield, but it holds.

If it had just been the appreciation for an attractive male, or even Shan's sense of humor, though he deserved neither… maybe he could have born it with something resembling grace. It isn't in Sar's nature to deny himself a treat he finds he has a desire for. He can be so impulsive.

That… might be a part of Somminick's difficulty. His partner doesn't stray from his side but he knows his appetites well, what wants live in his heart. They are too familiar with each other for that to be different. Some days he lives in fear of the moment Sar decides what they have is not enough for him. 

It isn't, it doesn't fill his every need the way it does for Somminick, who would be happy just to be his confidante and closest friend. That’s not all he craves.

Sar has stayed with him regardless and never advertised a lack.

And he won’t ever have to, as far as Somminick is concerned. He'd give him anything. There is just one exception, the one thing he can't find it in his heart to let his partner have. Someone _else_. He will not share, not his love. For all that his own is different, it is still his most jealously guarded treasure.

How much of that Sar reads right off his face, no matter the defences he cultivated under Baras' tender mercies until they became second nature, he can't say. They _do_ know each other well. Perhaps too well. Certainly too well for Somminick to take Sar's interest in Shan at face value.

Who cares if his partner fucks a Republican dog for kicks?

He cares. But he could- he could swallow that, if he had to. That claim, too, would fade as will his own. How easily they are comparable has Somminick burning with the need for wanton destruction.

Theron Shan. No it wasn't just _looking_.

 _You like him,_ is the accusation he fights down, too aware of the fight it would lead to.

Sar smiled at Shan and there was a spark of true pleasure, true _fondness_ in his eyes.

Somminick can take much but _that_ is more than he can tolerate.

It's not the first time this has happened. The last, most noteworthy instance also has a name and it has burned itself into Somminick's memory as much as he would have liked to forget about it. About _him_.

Cytharat, all courteous deference befitting a disgraced lord in the face of a Darth, with his perfect manners and unabashed flattery.

Sar had spent maybe a cumulative two hours in his presence and he had _loved_ him. Not in the destructive, all-consuming way he loves Somminick or he would have had to find a reason to throw that fool off the gravity hook he could actually explain if questioned, but Sar had loved him nonetheless. He would have fallen into bed with that man with naught but a laugh, if he had gotten the chance.

Or maybe he wouldn't have. Thankfully for them all their tactical advisor got himself shot before that became an issue. 

Either way Somminick would have liked to see Cytharat drown in lava for the transgression of _existing_ in his partner's vicinity alone, not that Sar let him have a say in that.

… his temper is not what it used to be, once upon a time.

Once, in a past that Somminick doesn't even dream of anymore, he was a Jedi. Hard to believe he ever held that distinction.

If he throws his mind back far enough he remembers snatches of long forgotten lessons in airy temple halls. Sometimes he considers that he might be imagining these recollections, framing expectation as memory. It doesn't matter either way.

It hasn't mattered since his first master, Nomen Karr, sacrificed him in his never ending struggle against his chosen enemy. 

Darth Baras.

Somminick spent years under that man's power, stripped of morals, agency, and finally his sense of self. While he is still held in regard as Baras' longest standing apprentice where so many others failed and died, the truth of it is he lived because he was less than a student. He was a slave, at times down to his very thoughts and as such his master could… allow his existence.

Time and again he was pitted against his students in truth and time and again they fell to him when they became too strong for their master to ignore their budding threat.

None could best him. Baras made sure of that, until he made his final mistake. Until he took up Yon. 

Somminick doesn't know what rode him. His former master used to be so careful in his endeavours. Compared to his well laid plans, Yon, Sar, was an impulse buy at best. A toy snatched up for its shine.

His then barely refined power drew Baras attention but their master did not consider that a miscalculation until it was too late. 

Somminick can only speculate what made him greedy enough to throw caution to the wind. Maybe having someone of Somminick's own strength under his thumb for so long eroded his master's sense of how dangerous a trapped Force sensitive can be. When he attempted to chain Sar to his will he made himself an enemy he couldn't contain.

Baras threw the two of them together with the expectation that they would kill each other to survive and he would, presumably, swoop in to claim the better of them. He must have already suspected Somminick wouldn't come out on top. As such, he had outlived his usefulness.

What his master didn't count on was that Sar would skip a step in the equation. Instead of wasting his hatred on Baras' weapon, he went straight for the wielder. 

_Help me. Help me kill him._

_I can't._

_Then stop fighting me. Come on! Give me something I can work with! You can't want to be stuck here!_

_Your struggle is futile._

_Oh, kriff you. I'm not giving in to that bastard. If you're not gonna help me, I’ll do it by myself. I'll cut us both loose, I swear, and then I’ll make you eat your shitty defeatism._

Somminick hadn't had anything left, at that point. Quite honestly, he wasn't sure what kept him going, trying to survive.

Whatever the reason, Sar dug his claws into it, tore it up and left him bleeding. Hope is such a painful thing.

Somminick put his fate into his hands, in the end, scraping the dregs of strength he didn't think he still had right out of his spirit in the expectation that it would be the last thing he would do. It hadn't felt like such a bad bargain, either way.

Instead of taking those last remaining inches and his life, Sar gave him something back, something precious that sings through his whole being, even now. He set him _free_ , for no reason other than because he wanted to. Because he said he would.

_I promised, didn't I?_

_He's bloody, soaked all the way through, just as Somminick is. For the first time in years he looks at his stained hands and feels something other than empty._

_The future is suddenly wide open, uncertain and he's tethering on the precipice of… of nothing. How long has it been since he didn't have orders? His mind is silent._

_His master is dead._

_Sar is the only person he shares a fraction of this with, the only one who could possibly understand. They are the same, in that._

_Baras tried to break them both with one little difference: With Somminick he succeeded._

_Or so he had thought. Maybe he's not quite dead inside yet._

_Sar tries to blow a strand of gore-crusted hair out of his eyes and fails. "Urg. Got off your ass after all, I see."_

_Somminick doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing. Words are such a waste of time. That, it seems, hasn't changed._

_"Wow and here I thought you'd be more chatty now. You're a right party favor, aren't you?"_

_"I'm not much for celebration."_

_The retort slips out as naturally as breathing, no thought required. How does this little Sith keep doing this to him?_

_Undeterred by Somminick's general apathy, Sar, wounded but unbowed, picks his way past the remains of their master and raps his knuckles against the center of his chest. The touch echoes through him like the strike of a gong. He knows it's biologically impossible but Somminick would swear that's when his heart started beating again. When he came up for air. He's **alive** and he is **free**._

_"That's a shame because you know what this is? This is the moment where i get to say 'I told you so'. If that doesn't call for a toast, I don't know what does."_

_Sar throws one last, contemptuous look at what was once the bane of Somminick's existence and spits. He wonders what it is like to feel enough to want to do that. Perhaps he'll find out._

_"Let's blow this joint. I don't know about you but I've been done with this kriff since about five seconds after I got here." It takes Sar a few steps to realize Somminick isn't following that invitation. He's rooted to the spot, the yawning abyss of an uncertain future a paralyzing prospect right in front of him. Just one step. Just one. He just needs to start walking, or has he unlearned that too- terror threatens to break through his numbness and swallow him whole._

_Sar glances back his way. "You coming?"_

_Without pause, Somminick takes a step his way. The arresting grip of possibility starts to slide off his shoulders._

_His partner in crime waits for him to catch up and he falls in at his shoulder without a second thought. "Where to?"_

_"Eh. How about a refresher, I'm not picky about the rest."_

_In some ways this is who they have been, ever since._

They've risen from those beginnings, stepped over the corpse of their master to claim all that was his and more but in a very raw, visceral sense, Sar is still the only thing Somminick has that truly matters. He's the only person he can depend upon, that he can trust in this pit of vipers they call home, the only one who would die for him, unasked. There's nothing he wouldn't do to keep him.

In the face of that jealous need reason can't hope to prevail. Thankfully his partner is tolerant of his idiosyncrasies. Mostly, anyhow.

He's drawn out of his musings by a disgusted huff. "Ugh. Unbelievable." Sar's glower is rather impressive but Somminick feels a smile tug at his lips for the second time this morning regardless. After as much exposure as Somminick has had to his particular brand of affection his general level of aggravation is more endearing than fearsome. "He's a walking, talking honeypot, of course I was looking." 

_And if it was just that..._ the retort is on his tongue, fighting his self-control but Somminick holds it back. There's no need to start a fight, especially in public. Sar is already caving to his unspoken request, subtly as it may be.

'I _was_ looking but if it bothers you I'll stop.'

However much he hates to curb his partner's freedom, he can't deny a measure of relief. 

"He's a menace."

"Eh, there's no accounting for taste."

"As you say."

"Hey!"

They'll leave behind Yavin and Theron Shan with it soon enough and he will be less than a memory. 

That is Somminick's expectation at least.

The galaxy rarely works the way he would like it to. He should really know better than to count his chicks before they are hatched.


End file.
